


scenes from the Hanged Man

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: Chapter and Verse (Varric Tethras x Min Hawke) [8]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Dragon Age II - Act 2, F/M, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), The Hanged Man (Dragon Age), Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 06:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18231473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: Sometimes innuendo's just innuendo.  Sometimes it's not.  Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.





	scenes from the Hanged Man

_Scene_ : drinks at the Hanged Man, terrible ale, raucous voices, naked steel and the occasional stench of vomit. **  
**

_Scene:_  Min Hawke four pints deep, cheating at Wicked Grace almost as brazenly as Isabela, hiding cards up her sleeves almost as quickly as Fenris dealt them.

 _Scene:_  Varric Tethras carefully noting tells, techniques, tricks of the trade.  Varric Tethras tipsy himself, which wasn’t like him.  Varric Tethras, carefully ignoring that fact.

Fenris snorted.  “It looks like I win again,” he said, reaching out and collecting his winnings.

Isabela scoffed, flashing a blinding grin in Fenris’ direction.  “It’s only because I let you,” she said.

“Are you sure it isn’t that I’m the superior player?” asked Fenris.  “After all, I managed to win despite the fact you hid an angel up your sleeve.”  

“Three of them,” said Isabela, fishing them out of her cleavage and scattering them across the table.  “Not exactly up my sleeve, either.  But it gets boring only playing against yourself.  A challenge is far more fun.”

“Varric’s plotting something,” said Hawke suddenly.  “Look at his face.  I can just tell.  He’s going for the long game.”

“Me?” asked Varric, spreading his hands out and adopting a shocked look.  “You would accuse me?  Why, I’m practically a paragon of virtue.”

“Liar,” said Hawke.  “You hate Paragons.”

He had to laugh at that, almost choking on the mouthful of ale he had just taken.  “Good point.  Another hand?”

“The dwarf’s the one to watch,” warned Hawke.  Varric gave her his most wide-eyed, innocent look, even as he palmed one of his discarded cards to hide for later.  Nothing wrong with a little insurance.

 _Scene_ : Isabela a few minutes later, flush with her winnings, buying them a round of bitter shots that  _might_  have been the Hanged Man’s attempt at whiskey.

 _Scene:_ Fenris shaking his head with a wry grin, leaving the rest of them to their debauchery.

 _Scene_ : Isabela getting distracted at the bar, flirting heavily with Nora, actually eliciting a smile from the normally dour-faced barmaid.

“Nora, laughing?” mused Varric, comfortably warm.  He told himself it was just the warmth of the bar, though the people were starting to thin out with the late hour, and there was a noticeable draft.  “Shit, never thought I’d see the day.”

“Varric,” said Hawke, giving him a sleepy blink.  She giggled to herself.  “Are you drunk?  You might be drunk.”

“Sure you aren’t talking about yourself, Sparrow?”

“Didn’t say it couldn’t be both of us,” said Hawke stubbornly, a blush about her cheeks.  She looked soft and pretty this way, flushed face, playful grin, leaned over the table.  Had her tunic had so many laces undone, before?  “But you’re slurring, you know.”

Varric squinted at the empty glasses in front of him.  Eh.  Maybe.  “I speak with perfect diction.”

“You curse more than anyone I know.”

“And don’t I do it well?”

“Course you do.”  Hawke gazed down at the pile of cards in the middle of the table.  “One last round?”

“Sure.  Rivaini looks pretty busy, anyway.  I think we’ll have to play on without her.”

Varric dealt, the cards slippery in his hands.  Maybe Hawke was right.  He didn’t often drink this much.  But he’d just gotten some very disturbing news about Bartrand, and if it was true, he had a lot to think about.  Which he’d rather not do.  

He dealt out two hands and picked up his cards, pondering.  He could work with this.

“When did you first start playing this game?” Hawke asked idly, tossing a snake into the discard pile and drawing another card.  Varric watched her hands, ensuring she only picked up one card, not three.

“I was a kid.  Bartrand taught me.  Not because he liked playing, but because it was good for business.  ‘Negotiations are made or broken over this game, Varric.  Remember that.’  He never had a very well-developed sense of taking it easy.”  He shed a card and picked up another.  Act honest now, cheat later.  It was usually a decent strategy, though there were times that called for the subversion of the normal routine.

“My dad taught me and Bethany,” said Hawke.  A knight appeared in the discards, roses bordering the edges.  “And Carver too, of course.  He was terrible at it.  He  _never_  cheated.”  A small chuckle.

“Just like you?” Varric asked, taking two cards instead of one.  Just in case.  He was relieved to hear about her family instead.  He’d had enough with his for a lifetime.

“That’s me.  Honest to a fault,” she said, gazing into his eyes.  He swallowed.  Hers were so  _blue_.  Cornflower blue, ice blue, he could never decide on the right shade.  He suspected there was a word for the color that hadn’t been invented yet; maybe that was on him.  Her eyes were  _so_  blue he almost missed her pilfering a whole handful of cards.  Almost, but not quite.

“If you expect me to believe that, you’ve got another thing coming,” he said, giving her a broad, easy smile.  Those were his specialty, he’d figured out long ago.  Big, open, welcoming grins: they were wholly unexpected in the Merchant’s Guild, and had become his signature.  People could hardly help but smile back.  He watched the way Hawke’s mouth twitched in an answering grin, and he kept eye contact with her while he squirreled away more cards for himself.

“Oh, do tell, Messere Tethras,” she teased, delicate brown fingers rifling through a stack of ill-gotten cards.  They were only supposed to have five, but they each topped at least ten at the moment, by his calculations.

“I’m going to call your bluff,” Varric said coolly.  He threw down the Angel of Death card.  “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” said Hawke in a silky voice.  She reached out across the table, twitching the fold of his jacket back to reveal a few cards wedged under the leather.  She plucked them out of their hiding places, fingertips brushing against his chest.  He shivered, though her hand was warm.

“How did those get there?” asked Varric with a surprised shrug, though his heart raced.  “You must have planted them there yourself.  I’d wager there’s more where that came from.”

Hawke laughed.  “Surely you jest!  But search me if you like.”  She leaned forward, chuckling with a soft slur and further loosening the laces on the bosom of her tunic.  Her breasts weren’t large, but the abrupt increase in cleavage was still an unexpected and welcome sight.  For a moment she paused there, lace ends within her fingers, leaned over her cards.  He could nearly feel her breath on his cheek.

Varric froze.  The warmth of the ale and the whiskey seemed a thousand miles beyond him. His hand twitched, fingers stretching forward.

He forced another laugh.  “Ahh, Hawke, clearly you’re too ladylike to ever cheat.  Sorry to have accused you.”  He leaned back away from her, his hand clenching.

 _Scene:_  the dwarf with his hands flat on the table, Bianca in the back of his mind, whiskey-muddled and mixed-up.

 _Scene:_ Min Hawke flushing, cheeks suddenly dull red, averting her gaze.

Hawke’s mouth opened slightly as if she wanted to say something.  “Right,” she said eventually, pulling the laces on her tunic tight once more and tying them in a sloppy bow.  “Yes.  Lady Hawke.  That’s me.”  She slapped down a set of four daggers and smiled weakly, not meeting his eyes.

Varric shoved over his pile of coin to her side, taking a deep breath.  “You win again, Sparrow.  And that’s it for me.  Can’t let you bankrupt me, after all.”

“If one night of Wicked Grace bankrupts you, you’ve made some very questionable decisions with your money, master dwarf,” she retorted, sweeping the money into her purse.  She bit her lip, then pulled out six cards from beneath the laces of her shirt.  “Er… not sure how these got here.”

“A happy accident,” said Varric, waving his hand.  He let out a long breath, then gathered up the cards.

 _Scene:_ Hawke waving goodnight, telling him she’d stop by tomorrow, her blue eyes luminous.

 _Scene:_ the dwarf alone in a crowded room.  The dwarf, wondering what the fuck just happened.


End file.
